


The Prince and the Post

by SteeleStingray



Series: The Vaskian Flower Trilogy [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Kinky, Literally Just Everything Dirty, M/M, One Shot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Slow Foreplay Leading to Hardcore Sex, Teasing, minimal plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/pseuds/SteeleStingray
Summary: There are ancient myths in Akielos, where a youth is chained to a rock or beam in order to be sacrificed to a monster and is rescued by a hero...When Laurent is captured by the Vaskian border, he is introduced to their unique way of dealing with prisoners. When Damen comes to his rescue things get extremely hot and wet...(TW: ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT IN THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY)





	

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: (TW. BRIEF ASSAULT; DETAILED SEX SCENES)  
> Hi everyone, I read this series a few months ago (so forgive any inconsistencies; I made Laurent a bit more vocal and I blame the flowers you’ll read about below) and this idea was rattling around in my brain afterwards. So, I made an account on AO3 just so I could write it and hopefully let others read about 9000 words of extra loving :D Enjoy!

            **The Prince and the Post**

He was a beauty.

It was all going through their minds…but more so. It beat through their blood and pulsed in their minds, blocking out all other thought. They could taste his beauty on their tongue--each man could feel him taut in their hands--as they drank him in with thirsty eyes. Their thoughts formed one clear, crystalline thread that hung heavy in the air:

_He was a beauty._

He wore the garb of Akielos: a simple, nearly sheer, white tunic that clung to his waist and brushed the middle of his thighs, rising tantalizingly with each sweep of his long legs.

What was most mouthwatering about him? They asked themselves.

His toned body, skin the color and smoothness (they imagined) of newly made soap, smelling just as sweet. A long elegant neck that met a nape of silken gold; matching golden eyelashes—long for a man’s---around eyes cold and blue as an iced lake. He almost didn’t seem real, although he stood right before them.

Their leader came to a halt in the circle of their encampment and surveyed the man behind him like he himself didn’t believe this beauty was their captive. He didn’t seem captive with the self-assured way he held himself, like a man who was used to power.

Their leader saw this and was also unnerved, but he made his introductions nonetheless.

“I have captured this Veretian man trespassing on our territory,” he seemed as though he scarcely believed it himself. “As in Vaskia, once captured, he is a prisoner of our tribe and subject to our laws.”

The Veretian man did not seem afraid or even interested in his surroundings. In fact, he almost looked bored by the proceedings. The men were unused to such a flippant attitude.

As was true of the majority of the Vaskian tribes, the encampment was composed of a single gender and the men’s groups were generally more barbaric in nature. Hygiene was an afterthought as was subtlety; alcohol, squabbling, and almost animalistic lust was commonplace. Usually captives, both female _and_ male, were terrified of such an environment but this beauty had barely blinked in response. It was almost alluring to them.

“W-What shall we do with him?”

The men of the tribe could choose from four main options of what to do with any prisoners caught, and then the group that had the most support or could shout their vote the loudest would decide the poor souls’ fate.

The first option was ‘kill’. If a prisoner had been too annoying or was widely seen as too useless to do anything with, his throat would be slit in the center of the camp and his possessions would be divided up in a lottery.

The second was ‘sell’ and was rarely heard. It was reserved for the prisoners who obviously had a very wealthy family that would negotiate their release. Occasionally some fat earl or an arrogant young lord would be let go after parting with a few purses of silver.

The third option was ‘fight’ and was one of the most common shouts. Wayward soldiers or any other strapping young men could choose an opponent from the tribe and fight them for freedom or a place in the clan. Failure was death.

But none of these options would be heard. Everyone knew.

It rippled through the entire camp, soft at first, and then loud and bold before trailing off again, like the tide. One word in hushed murmurs…

“Post…post…post…”

Their heartbeats raced and they could taste his skin on their tongues, caress that milky expanse, and get drunk just on the smell of his sweat. Like maddened animals they growled it low under their breath.

The beautiful man appeared unperturbed, but no one saw the slight shaking of his bound hands as he was gleefully dragged towards ‘post’.

He understood more than they gave him credit for.

Laurent could understand the Vaskian language so long as it was spoken clearly and slowly for the benefit of a foreigners’ ears, but he was not keen on letting his captors know this. Unfortunately, their accent coupled with the speed at which they murmured around him made it nearly impossible for him to understand everything that was being said. But he was smart and strategic and could deduce what was going on around him.

Though Laurent did not consider himself vain---though others at the Veretian court would disagree---he knew he was of unique beauty. There was one person who was fond of daily whispering this thought to him… In many cases, he could use his looks to his advantage, but now…

He had a sinking feeling that now his good looks would get him in a world of trouble and it had something to do with that goddamn ‘post’ everyone kept referring to.

Of course it was his own fault he was in this situation...

Only two hours earlier he had been riding hard and fast through semi-lush forests that separated the border between Vaskia and Akielos. The day was pleasantly warm and too beautiful for a simple ride through the local towns and a quick sweeping patrol of the border, so his companion and ever-the-athlete had proposed a race. Damen was infamous throughout his own country and those surrounding as loving a challenge more than he enjoyed making love. It was a good thing for him that his only lover was the most challenging individual on earth.

And Laurent hated to lose.

Damen rode abreast of him in what had seemed like an easy pace, his sun-kissed, bare chest rippling with laughter. Despite his best efforts, Laurent felt a hot throbbing in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the King of Akielos, sweet, dark, and warm as fresh honey.

“Ready to give up?” Damen asked, grinning wide.

The warmth in the center of Laurent blazed hotter; he had heard those words a thousand times as he clutched silk sheets and pillows, a clever tongue slithering all over his flushed body…

He did not even dignify the question with a response. Instead, he urged his milky-golden stallion faster into the underbrush without bothering to look behind.

Laurent wanted to go faster and chill that ache in his hips, the breeze and branches whipping his hair into a pale golden cloud. He tried to avoid blinking, avoid closing his eyes, because when he did…he could feel those large warm hands caressing his waist, running through his hair, plunging deep inside… Laurent bit his lip and closed his eyes. It felt like he was flying…

He was jolted out of his reverie when his horse screamed and Laurent found himself actually flying through the air, his horse bolting in the opposite direction. Adrenaline hit him hard in the chest no sooner than he hit the crudely woven net and he dangled helplessly in the air.

When his heart rate had calmed to a steady beat, Laurent had attempted to make his escape.

Like any Veretian noble versed in court intrigue, Laurent made sure he had a weapon on his body at all times, but the dagger he held was more appropriate for stabbing enemies rather than sawing through thick rope. Also, his Akielon clothing was not suitable---in his very vocal opinion---for much other than showing off smooth skin and lounging around on silken pillows. Predictably, he didn’t get very far in his escape before being discovered by the local Vaskian tribesman.

Thus his dagger had been confiscated, after a quick appraisal of its’ craftsmanship, and Laurent’s hands had been bound in the same type of tough, black rope, whereupon he was subjected to the same scrutiny as his blade.

There had been a tiny kernel of hope, that his new captor was a scout for a majority female tribe; but once that idea had been dashed, all Laurent could hope for was that he could find an opening to escape or have Damen find his horse and come to help. He _would_ come to help. Damen would have hated Laurent in this situation.

Laurent hated it.

He hated the way they stared at his bare legs and his exposed neck. He hated that the one leading him kept fingering the leash around his wrists as it exemplified his captivity. He hated that he had no weapon. He hated not knowing his fate, especially since it was in the hands of these beastlike men. Damen would have been apoplectic with rage, but Laurent stayed cool. He could not let them smell his fear.

He nearly forgot this mantra when he saw the ‘post’ and unconsciously dug his heels into the earth.

The post in question was off to the side of the center of the camp and was simply a thick wooden beam, about seven and a half feet tall, stood upright in the dirt. Nailed into the top of the post was a heavy wrought-iron ring with another length of rope coiled through it, hanging a little more than halfway down the wood. A bit unusual were the sides. While most of the wood had been sanded down to make it smooth, on the left side at a little higher than hip-height, one smooth, curved branch had been left intact and wrapped in sheep’s wool. It reminded him of a whipping post, but it lacked the telltale dried bloodstains, and besides, these men did not seem the type to waste time and energy with a whip when they could simply cleave an offender in two with an axe.

Laurent’s mind was working rapidly, trying to think of a logical explanation for such a device, but the most likely option was too horrible for him to consider.

He resisted every step forward just lightly enough so that it was unnoticeable to the man leading him toward the post, but it seemed all too soon that he was a handbreadth away. In a moment of desperation, Laurent tried to turn so that his back would be pressed against the wood. Once again, he harbored a kernel of hope that perhaps the post was simply a place where prisoners were kept until it would be communally decided what to do with them.

The slightest shiver rippled through his entire body as a firm hand took him by the shoulder and crushed the entire front of his body against the smooth wood. His hands were bound to the length of rope hanging from the metal ring at the top so that his arms were held up taught over his head. With his back facing these bestial men, Laurent had not felt so exposed in a long time.

He gritted his teeth as the leader of the encampment brushed his lips right under Laurent’s earlobe, his scruffy beard scratching the delicate white skin.

“Shhh, shhh…”

The Vaskian tribesman grasped Laurent’s left knee and slid his hand slowly, slowly up, obviously savoring the supple flesh that he found. He took a firm hold on the thigh immediately below the buttock and lifted Laurent’s leg completely into the air. Fingernails clenched into his palms, the pain keeping him sane, Laurent felt the short Akielon skirt slide up until he knew the curve of his ass was visible. Low, almost incomprehensible groans echoed like a chorus behind him.

With another rough hand pushing up on his back, Laurent was lifted almost entirely off the ground so that his left leg could be slung over the branch attached to the side of the post.

When he was released, he was strung tight, almost unable to move. His arms were pulled up over his head, causing him to be up on his toes on his right leg. Because he was up on his tiptoes, he could not propel his left leg off its’ perch. Pressing his cheek against the cool wood, Laurent focused on calming himself. He _hated_ being touched, especially by strange men, but escape was harder when hysterical.

He twisted his wrists only to have a searing pain race through his arms; the knot held tight. He didn’t have Damen’s brute strength so in this case, it would have to be an escape thanks to his cunning.

Laurent turned his head so he could at least see which brute would come for him first and was surprised to see a heated discussion taking place. Using all of his knowledge of the Vaskian language, Laurent listened carefully.

“I am first to touch him.” The leader declared emphatically, confident no one would question his authority or logic. “Not only am I the leader of the camp, I am the one who has caught him and returned him to us. It is only fair to me.”

The rest of the tribesmen looked towards their captive and each one wished they could find a refutation to their leader’s argument. Everyone wanted to taste him first while he was fresh.

His legs were so long and quivered from the exertion of holding his weight on his toes. They could see the wide white expanse of his pretty back, shoulder blades threatening to tear through that lily petal skin, just ready…ready to be bitten and sucked and scratched. They wanted to snake their hands up his slender neck and grab handfuls of that fine golden hair, tilt his head back to watch him gasp. And that full peachy ass. It seemed to taunt them from where it peeked out under his tunic, trembling with each tremor of his legs. Each and every man present longed to hold him in their hands and explore that gorgeous milky body and they wanted to be first.

Unfortunately none of them could think of a reason good enough to push themselves to the front of the line, so they were forced to settle for a small tournament while their leader took his turn.

Laurent watched this with a semblance of understanding and felt his heart begin to beat faster as the crowd dispersed back into the center of the camp. At least it was a small blessing that he would be left alone to try and escape from this hellish place. Maybe he could convince their leader that he would be more enjoyable if his hands were untied…

Laurent felt his whole body go cold as he heard the clinking of buckles.

As he turned, however, relief flooded his chest as he saw his captor was still fully clothed. Instead, he simply held a pouch in his hand, grinning yellow and excited. Laurent was struck by how dissimilar and distasteful this man was in comparison to Damen. He narrowed his eyes in dislike.

The barbarian thrust his hand deep into the pouch and clutched his hand tight in a fist as though he held something precious. With a viper’s speed, his other hand clapped over Laurent’s mouth so that Laurent was forced to breathe only through his nose.

Looking down at those defiant ice-blue eyes, he felt the sudden urge to play with this stubborn captive of his.

Carefully, he opened his fist, making sure not to let any of the precious contents within fall away. Laurent’s cold eyes flicked down to survey the assortment of dried flower petals, pistils, and pollen displayed in front of him. Even dried and crushed, the flowers were a deep reddish-pink and he could begin to smell their heady scent.

With no warning, the fistful of flowers was crushed against his nose and his basic instincts took over. With his mouth unable to get oxygen, Laurent inhaled desperately through his nose, getting lungful after lungful of the blossoms’ pollen and scent. His thoughts were racing and he felt dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“You understand?” His captor asked in broken Akielon, his voice soft with malice. “These flowers…this smell…make you feel good down here.”

Laurent twitched as he felt the man’s hips push insistently against his ass. Fucking aphrodisiacs…he hated them, how they made him lose control…

The Vaskian removed both his hands from Laurent’s face and stuffed his stash back in the pouch as Laurent gulped in fresh air. Already he felt a little light-headed and his nipples had begun to tingle and harden. As if he knew, the Vaskian grinned and sat on the grass to admire the view.

“Very strong. You beg. I take you.”

 _Torturous bastard_ , Laurent thought, clenching his teeth. He was going to wait until the burning itch was too much to bear, when his victim would cry out for relief and lose control. But this man had never encountered the ironclad will of the prince of Vere. Laurent never begged. Ever.

Instead, he pressed his forehead against the firm wood, closed his eyes, and focused.

As moments passed, he fought to calm his racing heartbeat and cool his flushed cheeks. He ignored the dull soreness in his nipples; he imagined that it was the feeling pregnant mothers felt: a desperation to be sucked. Even more difficult was controlling his nether regions. Only through sheer force of his own will was his dick not erect, his testicles aching in protest, and his ass prickled with the stimulus it correlated with pleasure. This was so much more powerful than Veretian aphrodisiacs. His mantra was that Damen would arrive at any moment…

To a shocked onlooker the only change that appeared to go over Laurent was a faint blush across his pale skin.

Almost a half an hour passed before the Vaskian leader began to lose his patience. This beauty was a tough prize; usually all their other prisoners tied to the post succumbed to their lust within five minutes. This man had not even let a gasp slip from his lovely mouth.

Although this man also hated losing, waiting in lust was the greater agony and he leapt to his feet after another few moments of waiting. He crushed his body up against Laurent’s, feeling that his marble-like body was indeed burning hot. Greedily, he groped for bare skin.

Laurent wanted to sigh or gasp or scream; it felt so good and yet so terrible.

But his self-control was a force to be reckoned with, and so the only reaction he gave was to look up and open his mouth ever so slightly. Fighting every urge to panic, he did what always happened when someone touched him without permission---which was becoming wonderfully less often thanks to Damen: remain calm and focus on something else.

Hands ran through his hair, over his throat so he looked up to the sky. It seemed to swirl in front of him: a creamy amalgam of vivid blue and white. Damen often looked at the sky when they rode together…to comment on the beauty of it’s color, only then to compare it unfavorably to Laurent’s eyes… Hands ran over his chest, cupping it, tracing the lines of muscle, rubbing over his nipples…his only reaction was to clench his fists tight, his knuckles becoming white and shaking with the exertion. He remembered…he felt Damen’s lewd tongue slipping over that pink and white expanse:

‘ _Like cream.’_ He had whispered. ‘ _And here…that pink meringue from Vere. This is better.’_

Laurent had to ration his breath to keep himself from panting. He had never wanted to be held so desperately as he did now. But, god help him, he refused to be held by the hands of this savage man.

His body was turning the enemy; every bead of sweat it seemed was racing down between his legs as if saying “follow me, follow me,” and those intruders, those rough, awful hands were obeying. He explored further and further down Laurent’s torso.

Laurent felt knuckles brush against the waistband of his Akielon underclothes.

It was over.

This devil was going to discover in moments that Laurent was not as cool and calm as he let on. Laurent threw back his head, dizzy from fighting these sensations and all the noise in his head, drunk on whatever aphrodisiac and hallucinogen he had been forced to inhale, drowning in blue…

“Oh… _Damen_ …” It came out somewhere between a sigh, a groan, and a sob.

There was an all-familiar whistle and a whoosh through the air, which caused Laurent---despite his extreme arousal---to brace himself for impact, cheek pressed hard against the solid wood. There was the expected thud of sharpened steel and wood meeting human flesh, but Laurent felt none of the pain he had expected. His head lolled as he struggled to look behind him.

He saw the spear first; Akielon-made, usually used for games, but deadly in battle, long, dark, hard…Laurent ached to cross his legs.

The spear was embedded in the now-bleeding neck of Vaskian clan leader who was sprawled out on the ground at Laurent’s feet. He had been killed with the deadly accuracy only expected of one person within one hundred thousand miles. Laurent smirked, resting his heavy head on his shoulder.

“I won the race.” He jabbed, words thick on his tongue.

Damen looked like hell: hot, wild, and dangerous, his eyes burning like coals. His sleek hair, unruly at the best of times, was tangled over his eyes and ears and bare shoulders. He was flushed as well, a good look he got from hard exercise, where his olive skin glistened with perspiration and his strong muscles were pulled tight beneath. It was a look he often sported in the bedroom and the memories made Laurent attempt to shift himself.

To Damen the sight was just as titillating.

Like Akielon myths carved lovingly in blocks of marble, his lover looked like a handsome youth chained in wait to be rescued from some monstrous creature. His skirt had slid up dangerously high over his ass and the cloth wrapped around his torso was also in glorious disarray. Better than a marble statue, he could be embraced.

Damen strode over to the strange post where his lover was strung tight. He retrieved his spear with particular venom and made sure to hear a satisfying crunch as he kicked the corpse out of his way.

Laurent’s head was an utter mess as Damen sidled up behind him, with only a whisper of space between them.

He could feel the tendrils of heat from Damen’s skin tickling his bare skin. Damen smelled of sea salt, horses, freshly cut grass, and cinnamon; Laurent wondered if he was going crazy. His thoughts, his blood, Damen’s breath crashed around in his mind louder than the sounds of battle. He had never been so close to losing his control.

"Laurent...are you ok? Are you in pain? What have they done to you? I'll cut you down--hang on."

“I…had him right…where I wanted him.” Laurent could not help but be snarky, even in these dire straits. "Don't...cut me down...yet..."

“We came as soon as we could.”

With just the feelings of relief and of Damen’s breath on his nape, and also from hearing the word ‘came’, Laurent could not hold back. With a faint tremble in his right leg and a whine slipping between his open lips, Laurent ejaculated in that slow, agonizing way only Damen could bring about. His head rested hard against the post, sweat running into his open, gasping mouth. It tasted like flowers.

Damen was frozen with shock. He had no idea what these Vaskian men had done to Laurent…but he was inclined to figure it out so he could repeat the process in the future. Usually it took hours of gentle ministrations to even get him hard, and now one sentence had put him in this state.

Damen kissed Laurent softly on the bump of bone just beneath his damp nape before turning to check on the activity in the center of the camp.

Little did Laurent know, but the noise pummeling his mind was not a result of the drugs, but rather a quick and efficient ambush of the camp that had captured him. Damen had led the charge with the dedication of a man rescuing his lover, and had been followed by half of an Akielon border patrol and the local tribe of Vaskian warrior women who had disapproved of these men pillaging as they pleased.

Victory had been swift and neat, as the men had been having a tourney of some sort (Damen could imagine now what it had been over) and now half of their men lay dead around the camp.

He was approached by the grizzled captain of the border patrol and the middle-aged matriarch of the Vaskians.

“Exalted, we have taken the remainder of these barbarians prisoner. According to the women’s tribe, this particular group is responsible for many lootings and kidnappings around our borders and within the forest.” His captain explained with a shallow bow. “Have you erm, found the Prince of Vere? Is His Grace unharmed?”

Damen nodded, looking around.

Vaskian women were notorious for coupling with strong and virile men, and it looked as though the bloodlust of battle had transformed into lust of another kind. Many of his men were surveying the women with obvious interest, and their glances were being returned with appraisal over taut muscle and tall frames. It appeared as though the former men’s camp was about to become a site of debauchery. At least it would give him some privacy.

“The Prince has been drugged by the tribesmen.” Damen explained and the woman gave a half grin filled with understanding. “I think I’ll be forced to stay with him until the effects wear off. And unless Akielos has declared war while I’m gone, I _do not_ want to be disturbed. Until then…if you find any food and alcohol you can rest with these ladies until I need to return back to Akielos.”

The captain looked down at his companion, possibly considering that these were some of the best orders he had ever been given. Damen left them to their vices to return to his own.

Damen unbuckled his belt with a hiss of leather, letting it, his sheath, and his short sword fall to the ground without a care. He threw off the length of red fabric that had draped over his right shoulder, exposing his broad chest and leaving him in nothing but his high-laced sandals and a short skirt that hung low on his hips. With each step his dick stiffened in excitement.

Laurent let out an audible exhale at this sight, his eyes glassy with desire and hips bouncing almost imperceptibly. But Damen noticed every twitch of Laurent’s; in the bedroom or the bathroom or the darkened hall (…or the garden or over the dining table or in the stables or…damn, he had really pleasured Laurent in a motley assortment of places), Damen was the most observant scholar on earth. He was well-versed in the study of Laurent’s anatomy.

“I admit it. You won the race, you stubborn…gorgeous…”

Laurent’s head lolled and a high pitched, mewing noise escaped from his mouth. Damen’s deep honeyed voice and assured walk were so arousing it felt like there was a blaze in his hips.

Those fine golden eyelashes fluttered nearly shut as Damen came abreast of him and nuzzled the damp golden hair behind Laurent’s ear.

“Do you want a prize for winning?” His voice was thick with lust.

Laurent threw back his head so that it rested in the warm hollow of Damen’s throat.

“ _No._ ” He lied.

Long, clever fingers wound into his silken gold hair and snatched up a fistful. Despite the brutality of the grip, Damen was gentle as he tipped Laurent’s head up and descended down ravenously on his mouth. Usually Damen would take long minutes to tease Laurent’s mouth open, but today it had been waiting expectantly. Damen’s tongue darted in with practiced skill and accuracy while Laurent made sweet little noises as he sucked and licked and kissed with uncharacteristic desperation.

Hands free, Damen slid them down the long, white throat, over thin shoulders, using his deft fingers to untangle the white tunic wrapped around Laurent’s torso. Laurent’s tongue stopped moving, his mouth open in jubilation as his chest was bared and Damen could explore more thoroughly.

Rough warm hands fingered the rope around his wrists and Damen grinned as he planted delicate kisses all around Laurent’s kiss-swollen mouth,

“I kind of like you hot and helpless like this. What did they give you to put you in this state? I think I need several tons of it…”

“Flowers…you pervert…” Laurent gasped, biting at Damen’s lip. He was rewarded by another ruthless assault on the inside of his mouth.

Damen moved his hands to one of his favorite parts of Laurent. His pale pink nipples looked painfully hard and swollen, so Damen took them both in between his rough thumbs. Laurent shivered as if cold while Damen lavished attention on the poor buds, first rubbing them in gentle circles with the pads of his thumbs; when they had been warmed and circled to his satisfaction, he began to roll and twist the hardened tips between his thumbs and forefingers. He abandoned Laurent’s mouth to hear his little gasps of pleasure while simultaneously suckling on his earlobe and leaving deliberate bites up and down his neck.

Damen began to pinch the nipples in his hands, almost milking them. Laurent seemed nearly catatonic with pleasure already and Damen began to whisper dirty things amidst his tasting, something Laurent normally discouraged.

“Curse this post…what a waste. I want to suck on you so badly…Do you want to be bitten? Would that feel good? Ohhh, if you weren’t tied right now I would roll them around with my tongue…” As if to drive the point home, he left a long stripe of saliva up Laurent’s ribcage to his armpit. Laurent’s left leg kicked out helplessly from where it dangled over the branch.

“God…” Damen whispered into Laurent’s hair, squeezing his chest with a cupping motion. “Should I erect one of these in my quarters? _Our_ quarters?”

“Fuck…you…” Laurent replied, showcasing his little remaining stubbornness.

Damen softly bit the bridge of Laurent’s nose. “If you insist, sweetheart.”

With viper’s speed, Damen’s hands journeyed the full length of Laurent’s reddening torso until he gripped his bony hips, yanking them back whilst simultaneously thrusting his own pelvis forward. Laurent actually let out half of a long moan before he could stop himself, biting his lower lip to do so. This was almost more erotic in Damen’s opinion.

With their current position, Laurent’s right foot no longer touched the ground and the tension on his arms was released…at the price of his half-exposed ass and consequently his entire weight resting solely on Damen’s clothed, bulging erection. Damen rocked his hips slightly and rested his chin on Laurent’s shoulder so he could see the exciting view down below.

Delicately, as if he was uncovering a fragile treasure, Damen lifted the bottom hem of Laurent’s tunic, pulling it up so that he could see the erotic underwear beneath.

Akielon underwear was one long cloth wrapped cunningly around the crotch and then twisted to a ropelike band that sat firmly between the buttocks and then tied around the waist. With one expert tug, the whole thing could come undone. And Damen was an expert.

Laurent’s long legs looked mouthwatering, even more so now that Damen could see that the underwear was practically soaked, especially in the center.

He exhaled a hot breath at the top of Laurent’s creamy ear. “My god… _look_ at you. How many times did you finish without me noticing?”

When Laurent did not deign to respond, Damen smirked. With the utmost deliberation, he brushed his knuckles and the tips of his fingers ever so lightly down the straining fabric. Laurent bucked his hips, attempting to get a firmer touch, but inadvertently pushed himself harder against Damen’s erection. This pattern continued on several times---with Damen intermittently kissing Laurent’s tightly clenched lips or returning to his nipples for a moment---until he pressed down _just_ enough and Laurent thrashed in the throes of pleasure, his mouth open and bottom lip quivering in ecstasy.

“Oh, it’s good…so good…” Damen cooed, pressing his lips on Laurent’s damp forehead. He was delighted to find that, not only had the stain spread across Laurent’s underwear, but it was so wet that the pearly semen had begun to trickle down his right leg. “Do you want more?”

Laurent refused to answer, his head drooping onto his chest. But his body was honest.

His ass had bounced so much on its’ beloved perch that the rest of his tunic had shifted up around his waist, leaving his milky, perfect bottom exposed. Damen never tired of the sight.

Leaving a sweet kiss on his burning cheek, Damen gently placed Laurent’s right foot back on the ground so that he could kneel in the grass, almost at eye-level with his favorite place in four kingdoms.

Lightly he traced the curve of Laurent’s hips, letting his hands wander to the quivering flesh of his upper thighs; he would massage there for a short time while the back received attention. Damen started by licking the length of Laurent’s right calf, sucking the soft skin behind his knee, and nipping playfully at the toned thigh. Laurent knew what followed such playfulness and normally he fought it tooth and nail…but he was bound tight by the ropes and his own inescapable pleasure.

Damen knew this and it gave him delicious pleasure. He ran his lips around the bottom curve of Laurent’s ass, holding it in place with his palms as his lover tried to wiggle away.

He ran his finger up and down the twisted cloth resting as a barrier between the two buttocks, knowing that Laurent was sensitive enough now to feel such fine movement. His other hand was busy groping and teasing the front, where Laurent’s dick was beginning to stiffen yet again. Damen knew the spot well, and with one clever finger pushed the twisted fabric hard against Laurent’s hole. He was rewarded with a sharp moan from his lover.

It was a long, slow game Damen played.

While his left hand traced the burning outline of Laurent’s dick through the sticky cloth, his right hand alternated between massaging the round cheeks and tickling at the crease in between. He was rewarded with seeing Laurent’s leg tremble uncontrollably and he left slavering kisses everywhere except where he knew Laurent wanted it most.

Laurent tried to shift and moaned through a closed mouth when Damen decided to stop his delicious torture and hooked his index finger through the thong. He felt his knuckle brush against a circle of soft heat…in time… Firmly, he yanked the length of fabric to the side of Laurent’s cheek, revealing everything. The stretching of the cloth put intense pressure on Laurent’s erection, to such a degree that Laurent’s foot actually lifted off of the ground.

“Take it… _off_.” His voice sounded hard and assured to the untrained ear, but Damen could hear the edge of hysteria not far below the surface.

“Mmm,” was Damen’s only reply as he admired the view.

He could even better understand the appeal of this post now. With Laurent’s left leg so high at an angle he could not hope to cross his legs to cover himself and therefore could not hinder Damen’s progress. Damen could see all those parts of which he normally got only a tantalizing glimpse. Though he was white and gold over most of his body, Laurent’s hips were a study the spectrum of rosy pinks---budding, growing, blossoming with color…

“Are you…worshipping me?” Laurent asked sarcastically.

Damen grinned as he kissed each of Laurent’s buttocks. “I only kneel before you. The god of love and beauty…”

Laurent seemed prepared to make another barbed reply, but Damen had other ideas for his own tongue than engaging in a battle of wits. With his right hand, he pushed Laurent’s right cheek to the side, fully revealing everything between Laurent’s legs. Protests fell on deaf ears.

With great relish, Damen thrust his entire face between those beloved legs, his tongue lapping out. It traveled in one long stripe over the entire back length of Laurent’s crotch. Damen nipped at the puckered flesh before licking at it methodically in long, slow gulps, making sure to take special time trailing over the hole. When he felt like it (which was more often than not) he sucked heartily over the pretty hole, causing it to tighten to a swollen bud, before he nursed his tongue back against the opening and tried to push it open so he could pierce it and spread it wide with his saliva. Damen, like his wriggling lover, was gasping with delight. If he had his way, his face would spend most of its’ time buried in between Laurent’s ass. He could never win a verbal spar with Veretian-trained Laurent, but no one could argue that his tongue wasn’t also a skillful weapon.

To Laurent, it felt like his whole body was going to burst out of his skin.

He pressed his forehead against the wooden post, unable to drown out the waves of pleasure. Always hard-to-get, his hips rocked wildly in attempt to escape, but thrusting forward only pushed his constant erection into Damen’s eagerly waiting palm. Shying away thrust Damen’s wicked tongue even deeper up inside him, and he could barely move to the side. It was rare that he gave up control, but this damn post had _forced_ it out of Laurent.

Damen felt his own saliva trickling down his neck and looked up at the quaking form above him. Uncharacteristic, Laurent squealed softly as Damen eased his middle finger up inside.

Damen grinned widely, his mouth swollen and shiny. “Aside from the first time I had you,” his finger was in knuckle-deep and he began to press on the soft velvety sides, “I think this is my favorite.”

They had ravished each other in a hundred different situations: drunk and drugged, blindfolded and bound, from dusk until dawn; with the pedantic care one took with a virgin, to swift and brutal need accomplished as soon as one of them could find a solid wall to press the other against. Damen had tied up Laurent before, but Laurent had always seemed 100% in control of the situation and his own reactions. Now he was completely at the mercy of Damen’s capable hands.

Damen licked his index finger before wiggling it in alongside the middle finger and began to press expertly on Laurent’s tight insides. When Damen deemed he wasn’t gasping loud enough, he pried Laurent’s hole open a little wider so that he could push the entirety of his tongue inside.

Laurent actually screamed.

It startled Damen; Laurent had never, _ever_ done something as extreme as a scream while making love. Moaned? Gasped? Even begged on the cusp of release? Yes. But never a scream.

Fortunately, it seemed to be a scream of pleasure as he positively _melted_ into Damen’s hands, his dick quivering from beneath its’ cloth prison.

Damen withdrew his tongue and fingers for only a moment in order to lovingly kiss Laurent’s trembling mouth. “Sweetheart…sweetheart…you’re so sensitive today…”

Damen slithered back down to his spot literally in Laurent’s ass. “Don’t… flatter yourself.” Laurent gasped as he felt Damen’s fingers and tongue re-enter his throbbing hole. “It’s the flowers…not you.” It felt so. Fucking. Good.

It felt like hours that Damen toyed with his lower half.

At one point, Damen took a break from fondling the anus---which was nearly numb from all the attention---in order to focus on Laurent’s dick. Damen tugged quickly on the cloth that wrapped low around Lauren’t thin hips, causing the Akielon underwear to fall away entirely…leaving Laurent bare, sticky, and luscious before him.

The stimulus of being naked was almost too much for Laurent to bear. How long did the effects of those blasted flowers last?!

Skillfully, Damen cupped his greased hand under Laurent’s ass, stroking pleasantly as he curved the half hard penis backward. Laurent hummed deep in his chest with satisfaction. Damen was amazed he could still be so aroused after all that had been done to him. He softly squeezed Laurent’s dark pink testicles and was rewarded with seeing the cock flood with color, a cloudy bead of liquid pooling at the top.

Damen made sure to thoroughly wet his lips before sloppily kissing the swollen pink head of Laurent’s dick. Openmouthed, Damen flicked his tongue over the slit and sucked softly, just on the tip, tasting the salt of Laurent’s pleasure.

Laurent pushed his hips backwards, attempting to force his dick further into Damen’s mouth, but Damen refused to be rushed. He swirled his tongue around the tip, easing his warm mouth further and further down with each slurp, relishing in the familiar feeling of holding this cock in his mouth. This act was slow and deliberate and delicious, interspersed with Damen fondling the base and Laurent’s still dripping asshole.

Laurent was positively wheezing, almost all of his body weight pressed onto Damen’s face, his cock halfway down that dark throat.

Just as he was about to lose control, pour himself down Damen’s wicked, warm throat…Damen relinquished his cock, letting drop into his palm, warm, pink, and throbbing.

“ _Ohoohhhh…_ ” Laurent gasped. “ _You bastard_ …”

Damen gave a Cheshire grin and rubbed the curves of the slickened penis, watching as liquid bubbled into his palm. “Didn’t you tell me I should be patient?”

He himself was through being patient.

Brushing his entire palm up the center of Laurent’s ass---a promise, really---Damen turned to find what he needed. Luckily, everyone else who had used this post in the past had anticipated the same needs he had now.

First, he found a flask of some amber alcohol set on a bench nearby and not far from that he discovered the viscous bottle of oil. Making sure Laurent was watching him, Damen disrobed entirely, save for his complicated leather sandals. He did this to make sure Laurent could see the rippling dark muscles of his back, the tight planes of his own butt, and, shadowed between his legs, the faintest view of his impressive dick.

When he glanced back at Laurent, he was pleased to see that Laurent was staring him with hungry blue eyes and a penis that seemed to be melting it dribbled so much.

Damen turned slowly so that Laurent could drink in his equally sculpted front, “See something you like?”

Laurent pointedly looked away, still hanging onto his pride even after his emotional display a few moments ago. Damen loved that proud, stubborn beauty; he would pry him open and get him all soft and sweet again. Damen drank deeply from the alcohol as he returned to the post and tossed it on the grass behind him when his thirst was quenched.

Laurent, the effects of the flowers waning slightly, still shivered as Damen melded the front of his body up against Laurent’s bare back. He could clearly feel the familiar warm cock crushed firmly against his ass cheeks, coarse black hairs tickling his sensitive skin. With a loving purr, Damen nuzzled himself against Laurent’s throat, his hands weaving around to embrace the captive prince, both of their hips rocking together.

After a soft string of kisses, Damen fumbled with the bottle of oil. “Do you want me?”

Laurent had never wanted anything so much in his entire life. Feeling that engorged pole threatening to plunge into him and mess up his insides had him in a state of desire he would feel ashamed to admit. To cover his embarrassment over being kidnapped and tied to a pole, he forced himself to act as he normally did:

“You…ask a lot of questions… _pervert_.”

Damen laughed before uncorking the bottle of oil. Laurent smelled flowers and his blue eyes went wide.

“ _Oh god…_ ”

Damen was too hot to notice and poured the oil all over his hands. The smell was everywhere as Damen’s hands darted with acute need down in front of him. While his left hand greased his own impressive erection, he busied his right hand by thrusting the fingers deep up inside of Laurent. Now he wasted no time, making sure that the hole was as slippery as a slave’s. His head was a little fuzzy at the deep smell of the oil and he suddenly felt like fucking very, _very_ hard.

Gently he removed his oily fingers in order to position the tip of his own dick in place. Laurent’s body was so relaxed and the position he was tied in was so ideal, it began to slide in without any help at all.

Damen became serious for a short moment, whispering so that Laurent knew so as well. "Do you want this?" It was always a precaution...In play he did not want to hurt his lover; if Laurent said 'no', he would slide himself away, relax, and cut Laurent down. "Do you want this?"

Laurent nodded. Almost imperceptible, but firm. His whisper came out softer than Damen's. "Yeah...I want to. And it's...not...the drugs talking..."

They kissed for a moment...gently and passionately. Their normal fare.

Feeling his devious nature return, Damen clapped his hand over Laurent’s open mouth and used his other hand to lift Laurent’s right leg up in the air. Laurent gave a muffled cry that only fanned the flames…

Damen thrust up and in, groaning in satisfaction as his dick settled into its’ place.

Laurent was clenched hot, wet, and tight around him and shuddered violently as Damen slid back out, leaving only his swollen tip inside, before pushing back in at full force. Damen wanted to orgasm just from the wet noises and the sound of his pelvis slapping against Laurent’s ass. God, it was so good.

Laurent himself was positively wailing behind Damen’s hot hand. All of his insides felt tender and swollen, and, as a result, he felt every rough thrust acutely and every exquisite slide back hit that G-spot just behind his balls. Sweat dripped down his forehead and matted his thin hair; Damen took advantage of his open mouth to nudge two fingers inside and fondle Laurent’s burning tongue.

It was as if the two wanted to devour each other.

Laurent sucked on his fingers as though his life depended on it while Damen sucked pink circles between his shoulder blades. Laurent’s white bottom was being assaulted so passionately it was developing a pinkish-red rash, almost as if he had been spanked.

(Damen’s heated brain in this moment realized he had never considered such foreplay, and found that the idea struck him as extremely sexy; he vowed to try it in the future when Laurent had insulted him somehow.)

Damen tensed up as Laurent suddenly bucked desperately, sliding Damen’s dick back and forth across his favorite spot. Helpless, saliva dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and Damen used all of his concentration to keep from cumming, a difficult task, since Laurent’s insides seemed intent on milking it out of him. Laurent had no such inhibitions and came with breathless delight for the fourth time that afternoon. Damen surveyed the mess with evil delight.

Gingerly, he stroked some semen off of Laurent’s half-flaccid cock, kissing his cheek when he shivered.

“It’s still so thick?” He remarked, playing with the stickiness in between his fingers.

Laurent’s flushed cheeks got even darker. “Mmmph ma muphhnn---.”

Damen withdrew his fingers in order to translate.

“Throw…that… _fucking_ …oil…AWAY!”

Damen rolled his eyes good-naturedly, before sliding his fingers back in, silencing Laurent. “Not a chance! Now be good while I---,” he wiggled his hips so that his penis settled deeply back into the pit of Laurent’s hips. “---get you warmed up.”

Now Damen moved softly to accommodate Laurent’s tenderness.

He usually enjoyed this kind of lovemaking with the more innocent Laurent. He lightly blew on the damp yellow nape in front of him and pumped shallowly and gently until he saw Laurent was half-erect again. These flowers were the second greatest thing he had ever fucked with.

This time he wanted to hear Laurent’s pretty voice when he came.

With no warning, Damen drove his whole body against Laurent’s, forcing him to crush up tight against the wood of the post without actually hurting him. Laurent gave a shrill gasp and would have thrashed wildly; unfortunately, the only parts of him free to move were his hips and his toes, and they positively spasmed. Damen gave no quarter.

With ruthless determination, he began to pump into Laurent’s ass, which had now adjusted to his shape and was being extremely obedient. Laurent had thrown back his head and it was bouncing helplessly on Damen’s chest. This time he was going to fill this prickly golden prince to the brim.

Damen began to pant loudly and Laurent’s ass practically clapped in response. The two of them seemed to be doing their damndest to fuse into the post together.

Damen felt himself beginning to climax and the heat rushed to his head in a fury to do something. _Anything_. The adrenaline overtook him and his rabid eyes fell on the long rope draped from the top of the post. With one swift motion, he had wrapped a length of the rope around his fist and jerked it free with one tug. Laurent fell slack and Damen caught him against his chest while continuing to embed his cock in as deep as he could.

“ _Damen_!” Laurent gasped, blue eyes brimming with need.

Roughly, Damen smashed his lips against Laurent’s and gripped that pale pink dick of his, helping tickle him to completion again. Laurent’s insides were a marvel of vibrating silk and Damen felt the first burst of fluid come out of him. It was enough to make his toes curl.

The next plunge he snarled with utter delight, spilling all the contents of his pulsing cock into a pool deep in Laurent’s hips. Laurent had gone utterly limp in his arms and Damen made sure to give a few more sharp jabs to get all the remaining semen out.

He removed his sore, yet satisfied cock with a soft pop. An irrational part of him wished he could impregnate this beloved man draped across him.

Already Damen could feel the blood trickling back down to his hips…

Laurent’s half-closed eyes fluttered open and, little to Damen’s surprise, still managed to look defiant.

“Is that…all you’ve got?”

Damen responded with kisses all over that feverish forehead. It really was a marvel: to see all that pink rosy skin fade back to alabaster…well…most of the skin. Damen shivered a little when he saw Laurent’s penis start to rise again and when some of his own seed trickled out from between his legs.

Time to repay wit with action.

Laurent started a few moments later as Damen ran his entire palm across the bottom of Laurent’s face. It was slimy too.

“What the hell?”

At first he was confused and a little flustered; Damen smiled expectantly down at him. Then Laurent smelled it. _The flowers!_

Quick, clever hands began to slide on his ticklish body, over the white curves and pink ridges. A tongue licked him into melting. His mind was fuzzy with all the feeling. From between his legs he could feel the familiar warm, hard length that gave him such pleasure. He sighed in contentment, feeling his own body parts rise to the occasion.

“More?” Damen’s voice echoed in his ears, deep and syrupy.

“More.” He replied, arching out against the post.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
